Snow Angel
by jay-tiger
Summary: Castiel is banished from heaven and finds himself stranded in the barren blizzards of Alaska. A handsome musher named Dean finds him, and they set out on a quest to find God, Sam, and Castiel's grace. Destiel. Physical wings/halo. Winchesters have no previous knowledge of heave/hell/supernatural
1. Prologue

"I need to talk to him, Michael", Castiel told the archangel desperately, asking for what might have been the hundredth time. "I know what's wrong with heaven. I can help fix it!"

Michael scowled at the angel, his lip curled into a fierce snarl that Castiel recognized all too well. The top layer of the archangel's four wings flicked with irritation. "Don't ask again, Castiel. You don't know anything about heaven. You're not worthy to talk to God."

"How could you say that?" Castiel pleaded. "I have heard about God. God wouldn't turn down one of his own children."

"You truly think you're God's child, Castiel?" Michael scoffed. "None of us are. We're servants. And you? You're virtually worthless." He crossed his arms and gave a quick sweeping glance around the kingdom. His facial expression had softened significantly. "None of us can fix heaven, Castiel. So quit trying."

"How could you-?"

"You're nothing, angel!" Michael screamed, his four wings flailed and his eyes blazing with anger. The archangel drew his blade hastily, while Castiel stood strong. He knew the truth about heaven. He'd known it for a while. Castiel narrowed his eyes at Michael, feeling a hot fury build in his chest. His own wings, although much less grand then the archangel's, were curved in a battle stance. The dark feathers were arched and furled. Castiel's halo glowed sleek, dark black.

"You're wrong, Michael. Everything…" He stopped and took a breath. This statement was the deciding factor. If angel hearts had a beat, he would have felt it racing in his chest. "Everything is corrupt! You are a corrupt leader!" Castiel drew his own blade, aiming it at the archangel. There was no way that Castiel would make this battle out alive.

Suspiciously enough, Michael relaxed. His smile was smooth and sarcastic. The angel blade was swiftly tucked into the archangel's sheathe. "What's the point of killing you, Castiel?" He cackled, narrowing his eyes and scratching his chin. Michael stepped closer, to where Castiel could see the color of his irises and hear the archangel's labored breath. Michael gave a bone-chilling whisper. "I could ruin your pathetic existence."

There are few things that an archangel could punish him with worse than death. Banishment to hell was the first, but the next worse was…

"You can't do this!" Castiel screamed, dropping his knife and hearing it clatter to the floor. Michael took his hand and thrust it into the angel's ribcage, clutching Castiel's heart tight. "Stop!" Castiel cried out in agony. The archangel's fingers dug into his arteries, making bright, hot blood pour through his skin. His entire being rippled with pain as Michael tore at him. No fighting now. He was a dead angel. Michael's eyes glittered with fury and enjoyment as Castiel's eyes fluttered and darkened, his breaths rapid and labored.

"Too late, Cassie." Michael gave one final tear to Castiel's chest. Castiel's breath caught in his throat and he crumpled to the ground, feeling his own hot blood pooling over his hands.

When he opened his eyes again, everything was bright, blinding white.


	2. Chapter 1 Part 1

He awoke to cold against his face, his wings, his whole body. Castiel never felt this in heaven. Having a mind shrouded in thick fog didn't help either. He looked up to the sky, which was a dull grey, but hurt his eyes all the same.

Inhale, wheeze, repeat. Angels didn't have to breathe. His body shifted against the ground, feeling the light ice pack against his coat which did little to protect him from the bitter cold. A groan escaped from his numb lips and ebbed to a low wheeze that crushed his chest.

So this is what Earth is like, Castiel thought to himself bitterly. The angel moved to stand, but couldn't. His legs were frozen, numb. How long had he been there? The furious eyes of Michael the archangel burned in the back of his skull. Godless eyes.

How could there be no God?

The thought sent his heart racing. Heaven ruled by a tyrannical archangel was a road map to destruction of the kingdom itself. He shut his eyes tight, feeling his chest tighten. Something hot ran down his cheek. Human tears. Michael always preached that becoming human was worse than death itself, and for a brief second, Castiel agreed. Another cough, and he was shivering.

"Who's there?"

Oh, Lord help him.

The voice was deep, husky, very human. He tried to move, turned to speak, but then he realized something terrifying.

Michael had cast him to earth as a human. A human with huge, black, feathered wings. He had never thought twice about the mass of muscle and feather on his back, they've just always been there. But how would a human react to this? What could he ever say?

The man's crunching footsteps came closer. Castiel heard an odd sound in the distance, a mixture of whimpers and growls. He wouldn't turn around to see the man's face. Act dead, yes. Maybe then he'll just be left alone.

As if his human body mocked him, he coughed again. And again. Phlegm rose in his throat, making him gag. So much for acting dead.

The footsteps immediately picked up pace, louder and louder. Then they stopped abruptly. "What the..." the voice diminished into a breath, which came fast from the man's running. "You're..." More coughing. "You need help. Jesus, I'll be back, hang in there."

The man was gone, but hastily back. Castiel couldn't find it in himself to even move. Behind the strange man were the whimpers again, mixed with nervous huffing. Castiel shivered, flexing the joints where the wing met his back in order to possibly thaw his numb skin. His body shifted painfully against the ice.

"Hold still," the husky voice whispered. "You'll be alright. Just-Just give me a second."

Castiel finally turned his head to see the man's face, but was instead face to face with a wide-eyed wolfish dog. With a whimper, the canine ran his smooth, warm tongue over the angel's forehead leaving a wet trail. Castiel squinted and grunted. "Toby!" The man called from a few feet away, his voice stern and powerful. The dog digressed, tucking it's tail between it's legs. "I'm sorry. Can you sit up? We need to get you warm." he knelt down and Castiel was face to face with him. The man had a square jaw and stubble that hadn't been shaved for a couple days. His eyes were striking green against the worn skin.

"No..." Castiel groaned, coughing up more slimy phlegm. Embarassing. "Let me help you..." he said quietly, kneeling down. He tucked one arm under Castiel's neck, while the other gripped the small of his back, right between his wings. Like they didn't phase him. As soon as he started to lift, Castiel screamed. Every one of his joints was on fire, his chest hurt with a weight that felt like thousands of pounds pressed against it. Letting out a groan, he bit his lip and shut his eyes tight, letting the man do what he needed. "Easy, buddy. Deep breaths."


End file.
